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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

HOME AWAY FROM HOME

P ercy’s apartment was beautiful. In its bones, it was undeniably gorgeous. High ceilings, tall windows, sublime light playing across crystal chandeliers, and a pale wooden floor that reflected it all beautifully across the enormous open-plan space. Unfortunately, that floor was now covered in just about everything Percy owned outside of his bank vault. What was there was smashed and broken, trampled, utterly ruined. Cushions were torn from the lounge, ripped apart, stuffing pulled out. Jars from cupboards and the fridge were thrown across the room, streaking the walls with mess of every colour. Every painting had been pulled from the wall, every item of furniture had been upturned and searched. The bedrooms and bathrooms were just as bad, mattresses ripped from the beds, pillows slashed, bottles emptied, leaving the whole place reeking of expensive perfumes.

Percy turned on his kitten at once. “Your witch did this, didn’t she?”

The ball of fluff drew back on its haunches. “Mew!”

“I’ll fucking kill her!”

Moxie let out a rare hiss, which Percy only glared at as he kicked his way through the ruins to a beloved and broken clock. “Fuck!”

Joe stooped to pick up a canvas, kicked through, but once a Degas. “Um… This… Is this… the real thing?”

Percy managed an almost-smile of reassurance. “No, that’s Lakshmi’s. All the paintings in here are fakes. I keep the—” The habit of lying to Joe, to everyone, caught Percy at the throat. But only for a beat. “All my stolen paintings are in a vault. I only bring them out if I intend to stay for a long stretch. I keep the fakes here for this reason.”

Joe was only half joking when he asked, “Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot?”

“No,” Percy replied in all honesty. “People usually know better.”

That alone was enough of a statement, but Althea ran with it, smashing a fist into her palm for emphasis. “I say we track them down and make them regret it. Get to work on them with some of those tools of yours, Percy.”

Percy grinned at Joe, Joe frowned at Althea, and Leo said, “I was here a few days ago. Either she got lucky and came when I was out?—”

“Or she was watching you the whole time.” The ridge of Percy’s back stiffened, then he climbed to his feet, striding across to Leo. “I should never have left you here. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

Leo’s head was pressed to Percy’s chest in a suffocating embrace, through which he mumbled, “I’m okay.”

“What if you weren’t?” Percy pulled back, hands on Leo’s cheeks to look at him, as though he needed the snapshot of a happy, living Leo in his mind. Then he smooshed his face back into his suit jacket.

“It’s secure,” Leo protested, gasping for air. “I set the alarm, I bolted every bolt, there’s no way in here without a key.”

“Unless you’re a witch,” Percy muttered, tightening his protective headlock. “Of course I didn’t think she’d be stupid enough to think I was stupid enough to bring the sheath back here, assuming that’s what she was after. But it was stupid of me to have not expected her to do something so stupid.” Leo struggled against his unrelenting grip as he crossed the room with him, instructing, “Althea, you’ll need to call some cleaners. Some kind of people who can fix this. And you know those companies who decorate hotel rooms and things? Have them do the lot. Today. I want it perfect by tonight.”

“But…” Althea scanned the wreckage in dismay. “Um… I don’t actually speak French or?—”

“You’ll have to figure it out. Leo’s having the afternoon off.” Percy wrenched Leo in a little tighter and dropped a kiss on his hair, saying to him, “I’ll take you somewhere nice and we’ll wait out the drama together.”

“Uh…” Joe waited patiently for Leo’s glare at the interruption to flitter away. That took some time. “Have you considered that Cleo’s probably still in Paris? Just maybe before you go out…”

Percy’s hold on Leo eased slightly. “You don’t think she’s gone to London looking for us?”

Althea set a phone upright, placing the receiver back on the hook. “Is there a phone book or something? In English maybe?”

“I’ll help.” Leo wriggled his shoulders until his head popped free, then slipped away to her side now that Joe had Percy’s attention.

“Maybe,” said Joe. “But if she knows this is where you live, it’s probably easier for her to find you here if she just waits. But how did she know that, anyway?”

Percy gave an unhelpful shrug. “I’m in the book.”

A coughing splutter of a laugh popped out of Joe. “Percy Ashdown, master criminal, is in the book? With his address? Where he lives?”

“Well, it’s…” Percy took the slightest touch of colour into his handsome cheeks. “How are people meant to call me?”

Joe shook his head, still chuckling. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s nothing to blaspheme over,” Percy suggested.

“How are you not dead already?”

“I ask myself every day.”

“You’re a walking disaster.”

“I saved your ass.”

“I saved your ass, too. Sort of.”

“You did. Okay, let’s think about this.” Percy took Joe’s hand, placed a fast kiss there, then called back, “Leo, stop working. It’s your afternoon off.”

Leo was busy talking over Althea’s shoulder, his finger next to hers on the page of a phone book. “No, look, ‘h?tel’. It’s exactly the same as ‘hotel’, only fancier. ‘Maison’ if they’re trying to be posh. And service is the same word again. Honestly, half the words are no different. Let’s try this one.”

“Leo!” Percy snapped.

Leo’s distracted eyes wandered up to Percy. “What? Oh. I’ll take it tomorrow?”

“Suit yourself.” It wasn’t easy for Percy to pace as he normally would have, so he shuffled around the messy room, crunching over his broken belongings, hands clasped, two index fingers meeting at the bow of his top lip, until he stopped with a clap. “Got it. What if we all go to Provence? You know, for a few days, a week at the most. Leo, could you book?—”

“Or,” Joe interrupted, halting Leo’s hand on the receiver, “what if we just clean your apartment?”

Percy stared back, blank. “I’m sorry?”

Joe wafted a hand around the room. “What if we just do it? Now.”

Percy followed the direction of Joe’s hand, brow constricting. “What?”

“I mean, there are four of us.” Percy’s face did not clear, so Joe explained, “We could just clean it.”

“But…” Percy glanced around, motioning vaguely. “The mess. Everywhere.” He took a moment longer, working the problem over, then clicked his fingers, face lightening when the obvious answer popped into his mind. “What if we go to the Ritz? By the time we have maybe six drinks?—”

Joe swung his groceries from the floor into Percy’s chest. “You take the kitchen. Tidy it up, then make us something nice for dinner.”

Percy’s mouth bobbed open and closed, and he rambled out a worried, “I don’t even know if she left us any olive oil.”

Joe pulled the top of the paper bags a little further open for Percy to see inside. “Then it’s bread and cheese and wine. We’ll probably survive the next few hours.”

“Wine.” Percy’s beautiful eyes grew unfathomably large. “The cellar. Leo!”

“On my way!” Leo’s footsteps ricocheted through the hall, and they all waited in tense silence until his shout came back, “The cellar’s fine!”

“Thank Christ for that,” Percy muttered. “Can you imagine the sort of evening?—”

Joe shut him up with a kiss.